Long Lost John
by Cheers Barfly
Summary: Doc, Clara, Jules and Verne return to Hill Valley and get an unexpected visit from a figure from Doc's past.
1. Default Chapter

Just a quick note to remind everyone that I do not own any of the BTTF characters; they are the products of the imagination of others.

LONG LOST JOHN

BY CHEERS BARFLY

CHAPTER I

ALISTAIR FARRADAY

Friday November 8th 1985

14:51 pm.

Nine minutes to go until the bell rang for the end of school, and Hill Valley High would be empty for another weekend.

17-year-old Marty McFly couldn't wait. Most people, by the time they have reached the age of seventeen, are becoming bored with the rigid regime of school life, but this wasn't the reason Marty was keen for school to finish today.

Thirteen days had passed since Marty's adventures with his friend 'Doc' – Dr. Emmett Brown, Hill Valley's very own crackpot scientist, and general joke of the town. However, Doc Brown had not been seen in Hill Valley since Sunday October 27th 1985, and then he had only appeared to Marty and his girlfriend Jennifer, to show them the spending new time train he had built, before promptly disappearing with his wife Clara and their sons Jules and Verne.

In light of all that had happened to him, it was little wonder that Marty had had difficulty concentrating in school for the past couple of weeks. All he could think of was his adventures time travelling with Doc and Einstein, and he found himself constantly wondering where Doc was now. He assumed that Doc must have taken Clara, Jules and Verne back to the 1800s. While he could certainly see the wisdom in this – it was, after all, where they had grown up – Marty couldn't help wishing that they had chosen to stay in 1985 instead. Doc had been Marty's best friend for four years, and Marty missed him terribly. Every time he thought of Doc, a heavy sadness clouded his soul, and a strange emptiness swept over him. When this happened, he had to keep telling himself that Doc, loyal friend that he was, would almost certainly come to visit him when he could…but even that didn't feel adequate.

14:54 p.m. Six minutes to go.

Alistair Farraday, the young substitute teacher for Marty's science class, was anxious for the day to be over as well. At twenty-four years old, he was only six or seven years older than the pupils in this class, and he had had an exceptionally bad day. He was sick and tired of the girls in his classes acting in a flirtatious manner towards him, but the troublemakers were the worst. Realising that he was young, inexperienced, and unlikely to know how to deal with them, they had been merciless, particularly nasty, sly-looking boy, Douglas Needles.

Of course, Alistair could have sent them to Mr. Gerald Strickland, the school discipliner, who, at sixty-two, didn't seem about to retire in a hurry, but he had been reluctant to do so, because it would have been showing Mr. Strickland that he didn't know how to deal with troublemakers, and he wanted Mr. Strickland to think well of him. Alistair wanted to be promoted from just a substitute teacher who was called in from time to time whenever a teacher was away, to being a full-time teacher at this school, and if Strickland thought he was failing at his job, the promotion wouldn't come any time soon.

14:56...

Alistair cleared his throat. "Um, you can start to pack away now," he said, ignoring the fact that many of the students had already done so.

Marty started to shove his books into his bag, then stopped when Alistair said, "Oh…wait…I'm sorry, everyone…I forgot to give you the homework."

There were groans from the class and a sardonic cry of, "Homework? Like anyone's going to do it", from Douglas Needles. Alistair flushed, but read out the assignment from the piece of paper. "Um…students are to write a report explaining why time travel is not possible. To be handed in on Wednesday November 13th."

Marty's ears pricked up. Write a report explaining why time travel wasn't possible? When he had just seen ample proof that it _was_ possible?

"Excuse me, Mr. Farraday, sir," he said, "suppose time travel _is_ possible?"

Alistair Farraday stared at the good-looking young man who had just asked the question. He recognised the young man as Marty McFly, who had been in two other classes that he had covered that week. Alistair had decided that he liked Marty McFly, mainly because the boy hadn't given him any problems, although he had seemed rather distracted during lessons. He decided to treat Marty's question as a serious query, rather than as a silly joke.

"Well now…" he began uncertainly. "Um…"

"The Big M's a nutcase!" roared Needles gleefully, grinning around at his friends, who laughed gleefully along with him. "Everybody knows time travel is impossible."

Alistair felt a strong surge of dislike for Needles. "Well, in that case," he replied quickly, "you should be able to produce an outstanding report, shouldn't you, Douglas?"

Needles scowled. "I ain't taking no homework assignment from a sub," he muttered.

Alistair stared at him. "You have to," he spluttered. He waved the sheet of paper about. "It says so right here."

Needles stood up. "All right then, _Mr._ Farraday. Make me."

Alistair met the young man's scornful gaze and backed down. Turning back to Marty, he asked, "Now, you had a query…?"

"About time travel, sir. I was just giving the view that it might actually be possible."

"Yes, well, that's a very good point, Marty, and one that's been explored in numerous science fiction novels and movies, and maybe it will be possible someday in the future…"

"But suppose it was possible now?"

"Oh, well, I don't think that's likely." Alistair smiled. "If that were so, surely we'd be hearing about it all over the news?"

"I told you, sir, McFly's wacko," Needles crowed. "It comes of spending so much time with that creepy old loon Dr. Brown. That guy should be put away."

Marty's face reddened. He balled his hands into fists. He always became infuriated when people insulted Doc, and even more so now that he realised he would not be seeing his friend as much as he was used to.

Alistair blinked. Having been in Hill Valley for only two months, he was not acquainted with Dr. Brown. He'd heard some stories, of course. He'd heard people talking about him. They tended to speak in hushed tones, and looked carefully over their shoulders, as though afraid that this man was listening. Mainly, it was the same old story – Dr. Brown was insane, Dr. Brown was dangerous. There was a rumour that he had murdered his parents, and there were stories of people who had entered his house, only to turn up dead a day later. Alistair had not been sure what to think of these stories, and wasn't sure now.

"Now, now, Douglas," he started to say, "I'm sure you wouldn't like it if Marty criticised your choice of friends."

Needles looked as though he was going to say something very rude, but the bell rang at that moment, and students rushed to the door, Needles leading the pack. Marty hung back.

"That was a good lesson today, sir," he told his teacher. "I really enjoyed it."

Alistair smiled sadly. "You and I both know it was a complete shambles," he sighed, "but thanks for trying to cheer me up."

"I'm serious," Marty told him. "You're good. I hope you get taken on full time here. Don't let clowns like Needles wind you up."

"But that's exactly what I do," Alistair groaned softly. "I let Douglas get to me. He knows I don't know how to deal with him, knows I don't want to send him to Mr. Strickland, so he behaves even more badly than he usually would do." He sighed again. "Maybe I just don't have the teaching skills in my blood."

"Get out of town! Of course you do." Marty was only half sure of this himself, but it couldn't hurt to bolster the young man's confidence. Everyone enjoyed having Alistair Farraday as a substitute teacher, because he was a soft touch, and people who wanted to mess around and do no work could do just that. "Look, Mr. Farraday, just go home, rest up this weekend, and come into school next week feeling fresh, and you'll be able to tackle anything that comes your way."

With that, he hurried off, his last words reverberating in Alistair's ears. The boy had a point. It had been a long week. If he got some rest and spent the weekend doing relaxing things such as reading and watching television, then he would come in next week feeling vibrant. He decided to take the young man's advice.

On the way outside, he bumped into Mr. Strickland. This was through no choice of his own; Strickland had seen and hailed him, and Alistair had no choice but to trudge over to his boss. Truth be told, he did not much like Gerald Strickland. Although a degree of discipline was necessary, Alistair thought that Strickland took it too far. He seemed to call every student in the school a slacker, even those that worked exceptionally hard and received top grades. He had even been known to give that name to teachers whom he thought to be underperforming.

"Ah, Alistair." Strickland smiled in a way that, to him, might have seemed friendly, but it didn't to Alistair, or, indeed, most people he smiled at. "How was teaching today?"

Alistair hesitated. "Oh…the same as usual…"

"Did the slackers get on your nerves?"

"A little…"

Strickland shook his head. "You're not firm enough with them," he chided the young man, "not nearly firm enough! You don't want to be a slacker like those delinquents, do you?"

Alistair shook his head.

"And you wouldn't like to lose your position at Hill Valley High, which, I might add, is low enough as it is?"

Alistair wanted to point out that it was grammatically incorrect to being a sentence with "and", but thought better of it.

"No, sir."

"Then get a grip on yourself, man! Use some _discipline_!"

Gerald Strickland strode away, leaving Alistair with his ears ringing and his face flushed with the humiliation of being told off. Yes, it had been an awful week, ended with a ticking off from his boss. He could only hope that next week would be more successful…


	2. Pierre Jacques

CHAPTER TWO

PIERRE JACQUES

Friday November 8th 1985 – 20:32 p.m.

Alone in his room, Marty was thumbing idly through his science book, trying to think of what to do about the report. He had finished his history essay – he had dashed off two pages about the 1950s in half an hour – and was now wondering what to do about the homework Mr. Farraday had set him.

He couldn't bring himself to write a report explaining why, scientifically, time travel was impossible, when he knew that it was. But what else could he do? Write a report explaining exactly why and how time travel was possible? Fill his report with flux capacitors, time circuits, DeLoreans and time trains? It would make a good English essay, but it certainly wouldn't do for science. He'd get an A for creativity, but probably at least a D for the scientific nature of his report.

Oh, well. He had until Wednesday. He could forget about it now.

And instantly, his mind flew to Doc.

Marty had been brooding constantly the entire two weeks since he had returned. Matters would have been easier if Jennifer were there; but she had gone to visit relatives with her family last Saturday, and would not return until Sunday. Apart from missing her terribly too, Jennifer was the only other person who knew about Marty and Doc's time travelling adventures, and had been a useful sounding board for Marty's feelings the first week. He was longing for her return more than ever; the time since Saturday had dragged, and his only consolation was the thought of seeing her on Sunday.

There was a tap at his door and his father, George McFly, entered. "Marty, are you coming?" he asked.

"What?"

"To the airport."

"The airport? Why…?" Marty remembered with a flash and slapped his forehead. "_Oh!_"

Of course! Friday 8th November 1985 was the day that his French exchange partner, Pierre Jacques Le Chordeaux, was due to arrive!

Marty had taken part in the exchange trip seven months earlier in April, when he had gone to stay for two weeks with a French family, the Le Chordeauxs. Marty had found them perfectly welcoming and friendly, and he liked them immensely, but he couldn't truthfully say he was glad to have Pierre Jacques on his hands for two weeks.

Pierre Jacques was sixteen and was the eldest of six children. Four inches taller than Marty, he was slender, serious-looking and intense. He acted awkwardly around people he did not know well, was terrible at skateboarding, indeed, most sports, and his hobbies consisted of reading classic literature, solving mathematical problems and making up little puzzles and codes of his own. He had been very friendly towards Marty, and could speak English as well as he could speak French, as he had been learning the language since he was seven, but Marty didn't particularly want him as a companion now, particularly as his head was so full of his recent adventures.

His visit had completely slipped Marty's mind…until now.

"I forgot all about that," Marty said, as they hurried down the stairs and outside, where Biff Tannen was waiting to give them a ride to the airport (Dave had borrowed Marty's truck to take his girlfriend out and Linda had borrowed the family car to go out for the evening as well.) "What time does his plane get here?"

"Nine o'clock," George answered. "Hit the gas, Biff!"

"Sure thing, Mr. McFly," grinned Biff, as they bundled into his car. "Oh, by the way," he added, as they rolled down the driveway and down the street, "I love your new book. You did a great job."

"Biff, I know you haven't read it." George smiled knowingly to himself.

"Mr. McFly, how can you say that? I've read it three times! I love it!"

"Biff, you hate books."

"Not this one. I'm addicted to it. Can't put it down."

"What's your favourite part?"

"Oh, I like the whole book."

"Who's your favourite character?"

"I like them all."

The conversation pretty much continued in this vein for the rest of the ten-minute drive to the airport.

Marty, George and Biff caught sight of Pierre Jacques at 9:15, as he trudged into the arrival lounge, wheeling his suitcase behind him, and glancing around nervously for any sign of Marty.

"Pedro! Over here!" Biff yelled, grinning stupidly and waving his arms.

"It's _Pierre_, Biff," George corrected him quietly, as Pierre Jacques started in their direction.

"He's French?" Biff said, registering surprise.

"Hey, Pierre, welcome to America," Marty said, clapping the boy on the back. Pierre flinched slightly; he was uncomfortable with human contact.

"Good evening, Marty…" His eyes swivelled uncertainly over Biff and George. "Which of you is Mr. McFly?" he asked.

"That's me," George said. "Let me take that case for you."

Pierre Jacques started to mildly protest that he could handle it, but George took it himself. "This is Biff Tannen," he said, gesturing to Biff.

"Nice to meet you, Pierre," Biff said eagerly. "Now…I've heard they eat frogs' legs in France? Is that true? And do they eat them with ice cream?"

Marty rolled his eyes. "Biff, he's jet lagged. He doesn't want to hear your questions about life in France."

The ride home passed mainly in silence. Marty attempted to make small talk to Pierre Jacques, but he could tell that the boy was exhausted – France was nine hours ahead of their time, so it would be after six in the morning for Pierre.

They arrived home at twenty to ten. Pierre Jacques stumbled tiredly out of the car and into the house, where he was welcomed warmly by Lorraine. When asked if he wanted any coffee, however, he declined. "_Non, merci_," he said, with a polite shake of the head. "I would like to just tumble into bed. I have been awake for twenty-four hours."

Seeing that it would be no use to attempt to make any kind of small talk until morning, Marty showed Pierre Jacques to the spare bedroom and bid him goodnight. Then, suddenly feeling tired himself, he made his way to his own room –

And found Doc sitting on his bed.


	3. Doc's Tale

CHAPTER III

DOC'S TALE

Friday November 8th 1985 – 21:45 p.m.

"Marty! Surprised to see me?" grinned Doc.

Marty _was_ surprised. Stunned, in fact. For a moment, he stood where he was, looking Doc slowly up and down, making sure this wasn't some sort of hallucination his brain had concocted. Then, when he was sure that this was no trick of the mind, he crossed to Doc and hugged him.

"Well, it's nice to see you too," Doc said, clapping him on the back. He stood up. "I apologise for taking off so abruptly the last time we saw each other, but I didn't want to risk anyone else seeing the time machine."

Marty nodded. "Yeah, I guess you would have had some explaining to do. Not that you haven't got any now. Where's the time machine?"

"Safely in my garage," Doc replied.

Marty blinked. "Your garage? Doc, how can you fit a huge train like that into your garage? Come on, give me the truth."

"That is the truth," Doc said. "The time machine is no longer a train. To make a long story short, I realised the machine would be much easier to work with if it was built into a car, so I simply went back in time to January 1956 and gave instructions to my 1956 self to build two time machines into DeLoreans instead of just one. He was to keep the spare, time machine – which, by the way, is completely identical in structure to the original – hidden at Dead Man's Grotto."

Marty shuddered. Dead Man's Grotto was situated about four miles away from the Lyon Estates. It was an abandoned, spooky stretch of land, with a few trees dotted here and there, containing the remains of an old prison that had gone into disrepair. It had gotten the nickname "Dead Man's Grotto" because of a man who was said to have been bludgeoned to dead there in 1927. There had been rumours that it was haunted, and practically every kid Marty's age had heard the tale of the little boy who had wandered there in 1964 and hadn't been seen alive since. The place had amassed quite a reputation, and if you wanted a place to hide something, Dead Man's Grotto was a pretty good pick, since nobody ever went near the place. Even the boldest, bravest daredevils were scared by Dead Man's Grotto.

"You actually went back and met your younger self?" Marty asked.

"No. No, no, no, no," Doc said at once. "That would have been too dangerous. I took a leaf out of your book and left him a letter."

"Even so…" Marty said, narrowing his eyes and giving Doc a sardonic frown. "You're the one who's always going on about how you shouldn't change history."

"I know, I know," Doc said, smiling. "I get a little reckless at times. It must be your influence on me."

Marty shook his head. "I think it's naturally in you. So – now you've got the DeLorean back, what are you planning to do next?"

"Well…" Doc reached over and took Marty's science book. "What's this?" he muttered. "The Theory of Time Travel…?"

"I've got to write an essay explaining why it's not possible," Marty told him. "I'm kind of struggling with it."

"I should just think you are," exclaimed Doc. "Honestly! When will these people learn? If they'd just open up their minds, the concept of time travel would come to them in a flash! Instead, they shut off every single creative thought and blather on about nonsensical trash such as your non-existent essay." He eyed Marty like a hawk. "That being said, I hope you're not about to launch into a detailed explanation about just how to make the transition between time periods. If word of our experiences got out…"

"Doc, what do you take me for?" Marty demanded, wondering if he should feel insulted. "I'm not going to tell a soul. Now you still haven't answered my question. What are you going to do now? Are Clara and Jules and Verne with you? And how did you get in here, anyway? Mom didn't know you were here."

"I climbed through the window," Doc explained. "I thought your mother might not approve of my calling so late. And as to your first question, Clara and the boys are happily ensconced in my home. When I left, the kids were happily playing around with my television set. They can't believe how many channels there are."

"Wait, wait, wait, so you're here for good? What are you going to tell everyone about your new family?"

"Already sorted," Doc told him happily. "I've phoned the papers with a touching story of a woman who lost her husband and was left on her own with her two sons. They were forced to move out of their home and spent the last six months living in a caravan, going around America. When they came here, I heard about their plight and offered to take them in. They moved in yesterday."

Marty sat back. It was a lot to take in. But the main thing was that Doc was back and his new family was explained away. And it seemed that Doc planned to keep the time machine up and running after all. Marty couldn't remember ever feeling as pleased as he did now. If only Jennifer could have been there to share the good news.

"Anyway," Doc continued, "I came to ask you – and Jennifer, if she wants – if you might like to drop by tomorrow and meet the boys properly. I've told them all about you; they're looking forward to a proper introduction."

"I'd love to…" Marty began, then stopped. "No, sorry, Doc. Jennifer's out of town and I'll be busy this weekend. My French exchange friend has arrived. Pierre Jacques. I've got to show him around."

"I see. Well, never mind. Come over when you have time." Doc walked to the window. "Well, I'd better be off. Clara and I have got to get Jules and Verne off to bed." He chuckled. "They're just like I was when I was a boy. Always want to be awake reading, performing experiments, whatever. Clara really takes the firmer hand with them; I'm not much of a disciplinarian. Clara says they'd be running wild on the streets if she wasn't there to reign them in."

With a smile and a wave, he said, "Bye for now", and climbed out of Marty's window.

Marty watched him walk out of the McFly garden and down the street, before turning away. His head was spinning from all that Doc had told him, but he still managed to write a page of his essay before deciding to turn in. Flopping down onto bed in his clothes, he was soon out like a light.

He wasn't sure what awoke him. Maybe it was the faint creaking of a floorboard – or the small cry of pain as the intruder stubbed his toe. Whatever it was, Marty felt a presence in his darkened room as soon as he woke up, even though he could not see anything.

"Who's there?" he said, trying to sound tough, but with a definite note of fear in his voice. He groped for something on his desk – something – anything – that he could use as a weapon. His clock radio? If he yanked it out of the socket…a good whack over the head…

But before he could move his fingers, a flashlight beam shone on his face, hitting him sharply in his eyes, and making him blink, and a voice hissed, "Well, well, well…what _do_ we have here?"


	4. Brother John

CHAPTER IV

BROTHER JOHN

Saturday November 9th 1985 – 03:47 a.m.

Marty froze where he was. The sudden light from the flashlight was blinding him. What was he to do? Was the intruder armed? Should he make a break for it, or stay where he was and go along with whatever the guy said?

A split-second decision was made. Marty made a break for it.

He didn't get very far. No sooner had me made a lunge for the right, than a pair of strong arms shot out and pinned him back on the bed.

"Let go of me!" Marty shouted, thrashing about. But he was being held in an iron-grip. The man had hold of his arms, so all Marty could do was kick.

"Be quiet," hissed the figure. "Do you want to wake the whole household?"

"Yeah!" yelled Marty. He thrashed some more. "Let go of me!"

"Listen," muttered the figure, "it's all right. I'm not an enemy. I'm not going to hurt you. Now I'm going to release you and turn the light on. Please don't bolt. There's a reason why I'm here."

Normally, Marty wouldn't have believed anything like this in an instant, but the man's voice was soft and gentle and Marty found himself instinctively trusting it. "Okay," he said, adding, "but if you try anything, I'm ready."

The man let go of his arms, then flicked the yellow light on. Marty closed his eyes as the room was filled with a glaring yellow glow, then slowly opened them.

Standing before him was a man, about five foot ten in height, with greying hair and a beard. His eyes were treacle brown and sparkled kindly. A friendly smile peeked out from beyond the beard. Marty guessed that he was in his early fifties.

"Who are you and what the hell are you doing in my house?" Marty demanded, although not as belligerently as he would have done under the circumstances.

"First let me start off by apologising for awaking you at this ungodly hour," said the man. Marty glanced at the clock radio, which read 03:47. "But it was necessary. When I saw him come into this house, when I saw him in your room…"

Marty was puzzled and annoyed. Being sleepy didn't help. "What are you talking about? Nobody's come here except Pierre Jacques and you can't possibly know him. He's from France."

"I am referring to one Mr. Emmett Brown."

Marty stared. "The Doc? What about him? What do you want with him?"

The man sighed. "Well, you see," he said slowly, "I'm his brother. My name is John Brown."

Marty was silent. Just as before, the information was taking a while to register properly. _Doc? A brother? No, it couldn't be. He would have mentioned a brother…_

"I'm sorry," Marty said eventually. "That can't be true. Doc's my best friend and he's never said anything to me about having a brother."

"No, well, he wouldn't," John replied. "We haven't spoken to each other for thirty-one years."

"Excuse me?" Marty said, his head whirring. "Why?"

"Rest assured, I am definitely Emmett Brown's brother," John said, pacing around the room. "I was born on June 5th 1932. There's a twelve-year age gap between us, but we were always very close. As you probably know, our parents both died in 1939. I was only seven at the time and Emmett was nineteen and in his third year of college. He had to juggle his studies with raising me." John smiled fondly. "He'd tuck me into bed at night just like mother used to. And he probably spoiled me rotten. I could get anything I wanted out of Emmett. He bought me a car for my seventeenth birthday."

Marty was getting impatient. "So what went wrong between the two of you?"

The smile vanished from John's face. "It was about October time, 1954," he said. "I was twenty-two and was thinking of moving out of the house and finding a place of my own. The fact that I lived with my somewhat strange brother always made it difficult to get a girl. Anyway, I didn't have much money at the time, and I had the nerve to ask Emmett if he'd buy a house I wanted for me. He told me he'd pay seventy percent of the cost, but that I'd have to get a job and pay the rest of the thirty percent."

"Sounds fair," Marty said.

"I know," John answered sadly. "Unfortunately, I wasn't mature enough to see it that way. I acted like the worst spoiled little brat you've ever seen. I told Emmett he had a lot of money and could easily afford to pay the whole amount. He told me that wasn't the point, that I had to learn how to do things for myself sometime. I told him that he couldn't teach me lessons, that he wasn't my father, and he snapped back that he'd pretty much been my father for my whole life. Then I started yelling that he didn't care about me, and he yelled back that I was selfish and ungrateful for everything he'd done for me. I packed my bags and left that night, and we haven't seen each other since."

"Wow, that was heavy," Marty said. "If you don't mind my saying so, I think you acted like kind of a jerk."

"Oh, I know," John said quickly. "I'm not proud of myself. If I have any excuse at all, it's that I was young and, in some ways, very immature. And of course, Emmett had done everything for me in my life. I wasn't used to him telling me to do something on my own for once."

"So are you back to see him again?" Marty asked. "How did you know where to find him?"

"Back in February of this year," explained John, "February 16th, Emmett's birthday…I realised it would be his sixty-fifth. And then I got to wondering if he was alive, and how terrible it would be if we didn't patch things up before one of us…went. So I started searching for him. It wasn't until September that I found out he was living here in Hill Valley. I arrived here on October 27th and have been looking for him all this time. I only found him today."

"So you talked, you made things up?"

"No, I haven't yet revealed myself to him. I followed him around, to get an idea of where he lived, I followed him to his home – he's living in the old garage. There's a lady and two boys as well. Did – did he marry? Are those boys my nephews?"

Marty hesitated. He was under orders not to let anyone into the secret of the time machine, which meant he'd have to stick to the story that Doc had put around. Yes, John was family, but considering he and Doc hadn't spoken to each other in over thirty years, Doc probably wouldn't be too impressed if Marty spilled all the secrets now.

"They were homeless," he said reluctantly, feeling bad about lying, but knowing there was no alternative. "Doc took them in."

"Doc? You call him Doc?"

"Yeah. It didn't feel right, calling him Emmett."

"I understand." John nodded. "Anyway, I followed him to your house tonight, and I managed to see him talking to you…what's your name, by the way?"

"Marty. Marty McFly."

"Pleased to meet you, Marty. Anyway, I followed him back home, and then returned to the apartment I'm renting. I intended to come over and see you in the morning, and get the low down on my brother, but I spent the night tossing and turning and decided I couldn't put it off. I'm terribly sorry I disturbed your night, but it's Saturday. I'm assuming you can sleep in."

"Yeah…" Marty sounded doubtful. He suspected that he would be forced out of bed early to show Pierre Jacques around. However, that didn't matter at the moment.

""I don't want to impose," John said carefully, "but would you take me to see Emmett sometime today, Marty? Maybe later in the morning. I – I wouldn't like to approach him on my own. I – I'd feel better if you were with us. I've no idea how he'd react to seeing me again. Has he really never mentioned me?"

"Well, no," Marty said. He saw a flicker of disappointment in John's eyes. "I'm sorry."

"No, no, it's perfectly understandable. I behaved terribly and I upset him." John sighed. "I just hope he won't be angry. I've really missed him, Marty. I didn't realise just how much until recently, but…I mean, that man was practically my mother and father from the age of seven to twenty-two! Can you understand what I'm saying?"

Marty could. He'd come to consider Doc as a second father himself. "The problem is," he said, "I've got this French exchange pal, Pierre, and I've got to show him around tomorrow."

"Oh, well, if you're busy…"

"No, no." Marty made up his mind. "You have to see your brother again. I'll take you to see him. Meet me…by the clocktower..." It was the first place that popped into Marty's head. Considering his history with the clocktower, it wasn't surprising. "Meet me there at eleven-thirty. "I'll take you to see him."

"I can't thank you enough for this," John said, wringing Marty's hand forcefully. "I can see why my brother is friends with you. You're a fine young man." He paused and turned to the window. "I'd better be going. I've taken up enough of your time. You get back to sleep."

This was easier said than done. With all that had taken place that night, what with Doc's return and the sudden appearance of a long lost brother, Marty found getting to sleep difficult. He finally drifted off into a fitful doze at half past five, just as the sun began its ascent.


	5. A McFly, A French Boy, And Two Tannens

CHAPTER V

A MCFLY, A FRENCH BOY AND TWO TANNENS

Saturday November 9th – 8:41 a.m.

Marty could have done with an extra two hours in bed, but, as he had suspected, was awoken by his mother marching into his room and throwing the curtains open. The sunlight hit his eyes in a searing flash. Marty groaned and fell back on the bed, mumbling the kind of unintelligible words that people do when they've just been woken up.

"Come on, Marty, Pierre Jacques has been awake since eight o'clock," Lorraine chided her son. "He's downstairs waiting for you. You promised to show him around Hill Valley today, remember?"

"Aw, Mom…just give me a few more minutes…"

"Marty, if you stayed awake listening to music again, then that's your own fault. Now come on, up! And don't forget to change your sheets. And do something about your hair…"

Marty groaned. Mothers. They were all the same. Groggily, he slunk into the bathroom and splashed some cold water on his face, then hurriedly changed his clothes.

Downstairs, Pierre Jacques was sitting alone at the table. He leapt up as soon as he saw Marty.

"You are ready, yes?" he inquired.

"Um, yeah," Marty said. He had been planning on making himself eggs and bacon and toast, but decided to just grab some fruit instead. He didn't want Pierre to feel neglected. After all, he'd been waiting for almost an hour already.

"MAR-TEE!"

No sooner had Marty and Pierre Jacques stepped outside, than what seemed to be a small bundle of clothing sprinted up and threw itself into Marty's arms. Marty staggered back a few steps, stunned by the suddenness. Looking down at what nestled in his arms, he realised it was little Ronny Tannen, Biff's five-year-old son. Ronny was the sweetest little child anyone could ever hope to know, and Marty was his biggest hero. The little boy absolutely idolised him, and often pestered Marty to let him hang around with him and his friends. Marty sometimes obliged, and had to admit to himself, that although the kid could be annoying, he usually enjoyed the time they spent together.

"Whoa, Ron, kiddo, you nearly knocked me over," Marty said, setting the five-year-old on his feet. "Where's your Dad?" His question was answered a moment later when he saw Biff across the street, dealing with a neighbour's car. The five-year-old stood before Marty and Pierre Jacques, his golden hair, which was gradually darkening to brown, flopping in his face. "Daddy told me you brought me someone to play with from France," the little boy said. "Where is he? Tell him he can come over and watch _Sesame Street_ with me."

"Sorry, pal, Pierre is my property for today," Marty told him. "Ronny, this is Pierre Jacques, Pierre, this is Biff's youngest son, Ronny. Now you go back to your Dad, kid, I've got to take Pierre around Hill Valley."

"I'll come too!" the five-year-old announced.

Marty chuckled. "Oh no you won't. Now be a good boy, and…"

"_Please_, please, please, please, please, please, please…"

"Ronny, what did I tell you? I don't want you hanging around with that dork McFly."

Marty groaned inwardly as he saw Biff's other son, twenty-year-old Lawrence Oswald Tannen, better known as Loz, striding across the street towards them. Whereas Ronny Tannen was a little angel, Loz was completely like his father. A bully in high school, he had been held back a year, like Biff had been. He hadn't had good enough grades to go to college, and although he'd had a few odd jobs here and there, he was currently unemployed and free to spend his time roaming the streets, either by himself, or with his gang of friends, looking for people to pick on. He'd singled out Marty for verbal, and sometimes physical, abuse, ever since Marty could remember. However, it usually didn't go anywhere farther than taunts, since Marty could well stick up for himself in a fight.

Now, Loz grabbed his brother's hand. "You're coming home with me."

"No! I want to be with Marty!"

"Do you want me to tell Dad you're being a bad boy? 'Cause I'll tell him. And then he'll stop you watching _Sesame Street_ for a month."

"No!" Ronny moaned.

"Then quit whining and come with me. If you want to hang out with big boys, you hand out with me and my friends, do you hear?"

Marty started after them. Pierre hesitated, then followed, skulking behind him.

"McFly, what are you doing? Get lost," Loz snapped.

"Give the kid a break. He's not doing anything wrong," Marty said reasonably.

"He is by Tannen standards," Loz spat. "I'm not having my kid brother grow into a dorky, wimpy loser, and he will do if he spends his time with you and your pathetic bunch of friends."

"Surely he has a right to make friends with whom he wishes?" Pierre asked.

Loz turned to Pierre, who he seemed to have only just noticed. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded. "What's that dumb accent? You from England, or something?"

"_Non, monseuir_."

Loz gaped dumbly. "What the…is that Italian?"

"He's French," Marty said quietly.

"Well he must be an idiot if he's hanging out with you."

"He's my French exchange partner," Marty told him. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to show him…"

Loz's lips curled into a sneer. "Is that so?" he asked, letting go of Ronny and taking a step towards Pierre Jacques. "What's your name, dorky?"

"_Dorky?_ A hundred apologies, I do not know the meaning…"

"Just tell me your name, idiot."

"Pierre Jacques."

"Uh-huh. And what was that you just said about my brother?"

"Er…I put forward my thoughts that he has a right to choose his own friends…"

Loz grabbed the front of Pierre's shirt.

"Hey, get off him!" Marty yanked Loz away from Pierre. He wished Biff were nearer. Loz usually didn't act up when his father was around, because Biff had always instructed him to leave the McFly kids alone – although, this had never stopped him bullying them when his father wasn't around. However, Loz clearly wasn't entirely in the mood for anything too major that day, as he merely pushed Marty aside and smirked at Pierre.

"Listen, French-boy," he whispered menacingly. "I don't know who you think you are, but if you want to get by a day in this place without getting your teeth knocked out, then you don't question what I do, okay?"

Pierre Jacques stared at him, fear in his eyes. "Okay," he finally managed to nod.

"Good. I'm glad we understand each other." Loz turned back to his brother. "Come on, Ronny, _home_." He paused. "I'll buy you ice cream."

Ronny, who had been snivelling miserably, looked up at his brother hopefully. "Chocolate and raspberry? Three scoops?"

Loz scowled. "Okay, but three scoops is the limit. I've been low on cash since I walked out of my job at Sander's."

"I heard you were fired," Ronny told him.

Loz smacked him around the head, although it was in a gentle manner. "Yeah, well, don't you pay any attention to those stories…"

Marty watched them walk away in disgust. "Boy, I sure hope Ronny doesn't grow up to be another Loz," he sighed. "At the moment, he's the nicest kid in the world, but if Loz influences him…" He turned to Pierre. "Hey, PJ, you okay?"

"Yes, I am all right." Pierre shook his head thoughtfully. "That was an altogether strange young person," he said, a frown coming over his face. "Perhaps he has emotional problems. I can recommend a good psychiatrist…he's in France, but he could have sessions with this person on the telephone…"

Marty had to chuckle at the very idea of Loz Tannen seeing a psychiatrist. "Yeah, well, somehow I don't think seeing a shrink would work out," he said. "Now come on, PJ, I'll show you the clocktower."

"Clocktower?" Pierre Jacques asked, his frown deepening. "It's not my place to question your judgement, Marty, but surely there are many more interesting places than a clocktower. What significance could it possibly have?"

Marty grinned to himself. "You'd be surprised."


End file.
